


Rarely Pure and Never Simple

by fElBiTeR



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Coming Untouched, Consent Issues, Extremely Dubious Consent, Finger Sucking, First Time, Internal Conflict, Lack of Communication, Light Angst, Light Bondage, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Rape/Non-con Elements, Riding, Rimming, Sexual Content, Smut, The Tiniest Smallest Untraceable Amount Of Angst, Yassen Is Horrible At Communication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:54:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26482231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fElBiTeR/pseuds/fElBiTeR
Summary: When Alex wakes up on a bed with both his wrists chained to the bedposts and Yassen Gregorovich staring at him from the corner of the room, he knows he’s in for a lot of trouble. It definitely doesn't help that Alex has been harboring a crush on the assassin for over a year and a half now...
Relationships: Yassen Gregorovich/Alex Rider
Comments: 10
Kudos: 109





	Rarely Pure and Never Simple

**Author's Note:**

> warning!! it starts off as non-con but turns into consensual sex
> 
> I hope you enjoy because I wrestled with this wip for so long :')

As soon as Alex rouses to consciousness, memories flood to the forefront of his mind: spotting Yassen disguised as a janitor in the hotel lobby, following him up to the fourth floor as quietly as possible, losing sight of him on the stairs before a hand snaked out from behind Alex to muffle his surprised yelp while being injected by what he assumed was a hypodermic syringe, knocking him out almost immediately. 

Alex’s body has already naturally tensed up from waking in an unfamiliar place. Still, he attempts to fake sleep with even, steady breaths, hoping that his captor isn’t skilled enough to tell the difference.

“Spare me the insult, Alex. I know you are awake.”

Alex drops the ruse, opening his eyes and sitting himself up on his elbows until something painful tugs at his hands. He groggily stares at the chains at both his wrists, following them all the way to their ends, the corners of the bedposts. He stares at Yassen, sitting patiently in a hotel provided armchair, who stares right back at Alex. That’s semi-good news; Alex hasn’t been relocated to a secondary location to be killed or kidnapped. He just needs to reach the button on the inside of his left shoe to alert MI6—except… his shoes are gone. So are his socks and his jacket, specially designed by Smithers for Alex’s missions, filled with little emergency gadgets and hidden add-ons. Alex scratches his right ear. There’s just enough leeway for Alex to reach his ankles if he crosses his legs and his temples if he tilts his head to his shoulder. The earring with the metal dissolver solution is gone as well. 

Yassen watches all of this with a barely concealed amusement in his eyes. The assassin removed anything Alex might have been able to use before chaining him up.

Alex glares at him.

This isn’t the first time Alex has encountered Yassen since after Air Force One. In all the eye contacts from across the warehouses, accidental incidents where Alex is dragged in front of Yassen’s employers, and situations where Alex never reports about Yassen in his debriefs to MI6, they’ve had this sort of tacit agreement where neither of them are really actively working against the other. 

In truth, it would have been a lot easier for Alex if Yassen were actually trying to kill him in their encounters. It would have softened the blow of Alex waking up one night grinding against the heel of his palm with Yassen’s name spilling from his mouth. Instead of giving into his teenage hormones, Alex stumbled into the shower and turned the dial to freezing, the cold water and self-hatred easily making his hard-on go away as he wondered what was wrong with him, feeling this way about his uncle’s _killer_ of all people.

Is Alex really at fault, though, when Yassen wordlessly soothes him by curling his fingers around the nape of Alex’s neck when he’s forced to kneel in front of the villain of the week with a gun pointed at his head, poised to blow his brains out? Is he really at fault when every time the assassin is ordered to kill Alex by his employers, Yassen drives him to some arbitrary location while he anxiously plays dead, unceremoniously dumping Alex on the ground before driving away instead? Is Alex really at fault when sometimes Yassen’s lingering blank stares aren’t as blank as they seem to be at first glance? Can he really be blamed when Yassen seems to be the only person in Alex’s life who gives a damn about him?

Alex tugs at his restraints to test their strength. Neither the chains nor the bedposts give, securely fastened. Nothing within arms reach to pick the locks. He isn’t going anywhere any time soon. “Why are you doing this?”

“Time and time again, you have cost my employers a lot of money,” Yassen says. His face is expressionless. 

“You’re going to kill me, then?” Alex asks, trying to keep the trembling fear out of his voice. He fails. 

Yassen notices. He rises to his feet. Alex scoots as far back as he can on the bed until he’s pressed against the cool wood of the headboard. 

“No,” Yassen intones. “I think you need to be taught a lesson.” 

“If you’re going to torture me for information then you can forget it,” Alex swallows. “They don’t ever tell me anything.”

Yassen arches a brow. “They don’t provide you with proper information. They don’t pay you. You have become desensitized to violence. Why make yourself available to their beck and call?”

“What else am I supposed to do?” Alex’s eyes dart to the chains at his wrists like they’ll magically disappear. “I’m nearly two years behind on schoolwork. I live by myself. Spying is all I’ll ever be good at.”

“You are not scared enough, then,” Yassen concludes, his tone cold and unforgiving. “How old are you now?” 

Yassen has reached the edge of the bed. He sits down on the end, still facing Alex.

“I turned sixteen last month,” Alex whispers fearfully.

“You are never too young to die,” Yassen notes, reaching over to give Alex’s arm a painful squeeze to emphasize his point. “You will meet many people in this line of work. Many of them will not be as forgiving as I have been. You are not prepared to deal with any of them. Only luck has gotten you this far. When you are properly caught, you won’t last five minutes before breaking.”

“You want me to quit MI6? Is that it?” Alex asks, shaking Yassen’s hand away. “Please, let me go. You’ll never see me again.” _And I’ll never see you again_ , he doesn’t say, feeling more disappointed at the thought than he should.

“I think you are lying,” Yassen says, frowning slightly. He shakes his head. “I think if I let you go, I will see you again next week, interfering again like clockwork.”

“No, you won’t,” Alex blurts. “I promise. Just, please, don’t torture me. Like you said, I haven’t—I haven’t been trained for it—”

He’s cut off when Yassen laughs, soft and low.

“What’s so funny?” Alex scowls at the assassin, fighting the beginnings of a flush rising up his neck. 

“You are,” Yassen replies, his lips twitching upwards. “Do you know how many people have been in your position? How many people beg before I even begin, screaming and kicking? Offer me their entire wealth? Yet you lie here, barely frightened. You are either very brave or very foolish, little Alex.” Yassen lifts a hand, slowly reaching for Alex’s chin.

Alex smacks his hand away.

“Or both,” Yassen adds as an afterthought, fascinatedly staring at the hand Alex just slapped away.

“What’s the point of begging if all it does is humiliate me?” Alex grumbles, averting his eyes when Yassen leans even closer, close enough for Alex to count each individual eyelash on his attractive face, his seemingly soft, chiseled lips, his smooth, sharp jawline…

“I won’t torture you,” Yassen says softly. “I won’t even kill you. I will do something much worse.”

Worse? What can possibly be worse?

Alex’s confusion must show because Yassen’s face grows closed off and serious again. “It is incredibly telling when you don’t even understand what I’m talking about, little one.”

Alex searches Yassen’s ice-blue eyes for any sign of hesitation, of guilt, of anything at all that can help him out of this situation. They reveal nothing.

“What are you going on about?” Alex asks.

“You see, I bet you are a virgin,” Yassen says. 

Alex tenses then quickly relaxes, but it’s too late. He’s already given himself away, _again_. He internally curses.

“I bet MI6 has not told you all the things that can happen when you are captured,” Yassen continues, tap, tap, tapping his finger on the bed. “Rape,” Alex flinches at the assassin’s casual use of the word, “is pleasurable for your captors, but physically and psychologically painful for you.”

Alex stares at Yassen in horror. He’s… He’s got to be joking, right?

Yassen fully climbs onto the bed with him, beginning to take his own trousers off.

He’s _not joking_.

“You can ask me to stop at any time,” Yassen says. “I will stop and then snap your neck. So undress, or beg me to stop.”

A shudder of fear crashes into Alex like a tidal wave. Is karma coming to bite him in the arse for all the times he’s dreamt of this? He reluctantly shimmies his trousers down until they’re fully off. Alex hesitantly looks back up at Yassen and freezes at the sight of the assassin’s nearly naked lean body, toned stomach, and deceptively lithe limbs, muscles flexing as he finishes taking his top off. A thin ruler-straight scar runs down his neck, still shiny pink and slightly jagged.

Alex’s gaze quickly flits down before returning to an innocuous spot on the bed. His mouth goes dry. Yassen is visibly half hard. 

… Is that because of Alex? 

“Do you usually make it a habit of,” Alex swallows, suddenly more nervous than before, gathering up his courage, “raping teenage boys?”

Yassen leans across the bed to rummage for something in the nightstand. “I don’t make it a habit of knowing any teenage boys, Alex.”

Alex swallows again. “Then... I’m the only one you’ve ever done this to?”

Yassen’s hand emerges from the drawer with a bottle of lube. “Yes.”

Relief. 

Why does Alex feel relieved? He should be feeling scared, horrified, disgusted, not _relieved_. 

“I can’t seem to get my shirt off,” Alex says, tugging on his restraints for emphasis. “Looks like you’ll need to unlock these.”

“Hold still,” Yassen orders. A thin knife shows up in his hand, appearing from seemingly nowhere. 

“Wait, you said you weren’t going to—” Yassen cuts Alex off by slicing right through his thin t-shirt, tossing the scraps aside. “—Oh.”

“If you won’t beg for me to stop now…” Yassen slides a warm hand up the pale milky white of Alex’s inner thigh. It’s hot against his skin. “You’ll be begging by the end of the night.”

Alex jerks backwards, away from the touch like it burns him. “Please don’t.”

“We can start easy, then?” Yassen suggests, sitting up on his calves. It isn’t much of a suggestion. He gestures down to his tented pants.

Alex’s face is on fire, flamed scarlet from embarrassment. He doesn’t want to die. He reaches for the waistband of Yassen’s boxers, but his hands are swatted away. 

“We’re in no hurry,” Yassen says, smiling. He looks like he’s planning on enjoying this immensely.

“ _You’re_ in no hurry,” Alex mutters under his breath. 

Luckily for Alex, Yassen chooses to ignore the comment, tapping a spot of skin on his stomach twice. “Won’t you give me a kiss, Alex?”

Fighting a stirring warmth in his belly, Alex leans forwards, giving the area a chaste peck. When he sees the unspoken warning in Yassen’s eyes, he leans back in and presses his lips against the skin like he imagines a real kiss would go and then defiantly bites down, not really hard enough to cause any pain.

“I won’t break,” Yassen says. “Bite harder.”

Well, if that’s what Yassen wants… One final time, Alex returns to the same spot and mouths the area before biting down as hard as he can, suckling at the softness of the skin for a moment until he remembers that he’s not supposed to like it and pulls away with a stony expression.

Yassen looks completely unaffected and unruffled and not in pain at all, even though the blooming red bite mark on his stomach would be bleeding if Alex hadn’t stopped himself when he did. Alex just gave Yassen a hickey. He marked Yassen. A brief wave of dizziness passes through him at the thought. 

“Now the boxers. With your teeth, Alex.” Yassen’s voice brings him back down to Earth.

Alex’s lower lips wobbles. “Why can’t I just use my hands?”

“Because I said so,” Yassen says, arching a brow.

And that’s that.

Alex hooks his teeth over the thin waistband of Yassen’s boxers, trying and failing to ignore the way the assassin’s private parts keep nuzzling against Alex’s face in the most intimate way. It takes him three attempts before he successfully tugs them low enough for Yassen’s cock to spill out, finally freed from the fabric, thicker than Alex’s own and the head colored a much darker red.

“I’ve never…” Alex squeaks, unable to finish his sentence. _Never sucked anyone’s dick before. Never even seen anyone else’s prick in real life before_. _Never had sex before. But you know all this._

“Do what feels natural,” Yassen shrugs. 

Naturally, Alex wants to angrily bite Yassen’s dick off for forcing him to be in this situation. He doesn’t think the assassin would appreciate it very much, though.

Instead, Alex swallows, keenly aware that his mouth feels tacky and dry. He tentatively touches his lips to the flushed cockhead, scrunching his nose at the odd texture. He opens his mouth and gives the tip a small kitten lick and then a bolder suck, instantly tasting something salty and musky, tasting the way Yassen smells sometimes whenever Alex got a little bit too close to him in their encounters, a whiff of spiciness and something so flagrantly _Yassen_. The flesh is hot and heavy on Alex’s tongue, and to his complete and utter shame, he doesn’t immediately hate it, tonguing the underside experimentally before licking the head again, palming the base with his hands to steady himself.

To counter his mixed feelings, Alex leans away and glares up at Yassen. “It tastes horrible,” he lies.

“Not my problem,” Yassen says. The assassin’s voice is pitched lower than it was a few minutes ago with a note of strain, and his breath has started to quicken, Alex notices. 

Oh god, _Alex_ is doing that to him. 

To hide the whimpers that threaten to escape at this realization, Alex scrapes up all the determination in him and parts his lips, carefully watching his teeth as Yassen’s cock slides inside his mouth, solid and strong and _big_. 

“Breathe through your nose,” Yassen suggests before pushing his fingers into Alex’s hair and tugging, a sharp jolt of pain reminding Alex that _he doesn’t want this_. He doesn’t. He swears he doesn’t.

And yet, when Yassen feeds his cock down Alex’s throat bit by bit until over half of it is in his mouth, his jaw beginning to ache, Alex _still_ doesn’t hate it as much as he knows he should. Alex has a feeling that he’s going to start choking if Yassen pushes any deeper, signs of his gag reflex beginning to show itself. Yassen doesn’t care. 

Saliva begins to dribble out the side of Alex’s mouth and down his chin. Yassen’s other free hand wipes it off and then pauses to drift to Alex’s chin. 

“Very good, Alex.” The way Yassen holds Alex’s face up and gazes down at him in a mixture of desire and—what is that? _fondness_?—combined with the unsolicited praise sends an unwanted heat rushing down between Alex’s legs.

And then Yassen pulls back, his cock sliding out from Alex’s lips before thrusting forwards again, harshly, Alex’s mouth suddenly stretched wide by the girth of Yassen’s prick, gagging as the rounded tip bumps the back of his throat, the bitter saltiness of pre-come coating his taste buds on the glide back out, momentarily pausing before pushing back in. Distantly, Alex can see Yassen’s stomach tighten with each thrust, the assassin’s shaft pulsing between Alex’s lips, smooth and hard and hot.

Alex isn’t even doing anything anymore, just resting back on his forearms and letting himself be used like some common whore as Yassen fucks into his mouth, a firm hand at the back of his head as a guide, Alex gasping for breath in between each thrust and forgetting to breathe through his nose, his throat constricting around the thick intrusion in his airway, making involuntary choking and gagging noises each time Yassen thrusts back in. His heartbeat races when he hazily glances back up at Yassen and realizes the assassin’s gaze is firmly glued to Alex’s lips, probably red and swollen and obscene, stretched around his prick.

Alex drags his tongue over the bottom of Yassen‘s cock and suddenly sucks as hard as he can, blearily blinking up at the assassin with what he hopes communicates pleading in his eyes.

Yassen makes a barely audible sigh as he pulls out of Alex’s mouth, a thin strand of saliva lewdly connecting the tip of his prick to Alex’s lips. “Will you beg me to stop now?”

Alex, making sure that Yassen’s eyes are on him, licks his lips slowly before shaking his head. As expected, Yassen’s gaze momentarily drops to Alex’s mouth. Yassen isn’t so infallible after all. “Can’t you just let me go?” Alex’s voice is hoarse and raspy. It sounds like exactly what he’s just been busy doing.

“I’m afraid not,” Yassen replies. “I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson yet. Turn around. Or beg.”

Alex hesitates. If Yassen is naked, where is he hiding the key to the locks on Alex? 

“Don’t make me ask again.”

Alex rolls over, mindful of the chains and buries his face into a pillow, humiliated as Yassen’s hand trails lower and lower towards the bottom of Alex’s spine before tugging his boxers down and then all the way off, revealing his bare arse. He’s hyper-aware that every single part of his body is exposed and vulnerable, aware that at any point in time, Yassen can choose to sink the blade from earlier into Alex or get bored with him and snap his neck anyway. Alex gasps when the thought sends an unbidden flash of heat to his belly.

“So tense.” Alex hears Yassen murmur as the assassin rubs the small of Alex’s back with his thumbs, feather-light touches and a faint drag of manicured fingernails flitting over his skin before Yassen crudely palms one of Alex’s arsecheeks, squeezing and kneading. No one has ever touched Alex like that before. He’s never gone past basic kissing, and even _that_ happened over a year and a half ago. It doesn’t help that Alex tenses even further remembering exactly what the assassin wants from him.

A moment later, a hand curls around Alex’s face from behind, a thumb rubbing gentle patterns into his jawline as soft fingers caress his lower lip, prodding at Alex’s stubbornly closed mouth. Alex yelps when he feels a particularly hard nip to his lower back, and Yassen takes advantage of Alex’s slip up to slide two of his fingers into Alex's mouth. Alex instinctively bites down to get them out, but Yassen doesn’t budge, instead pressing them down against the flat of Alex’s tongue, rubbing back and forth in a lascivious mimicry of something else, pressing firmly.

Right away, Alex notices that Yassen’s fingers taste exactly like the other man’s cock when it was in Alex’s mouth, salty and musky and slightly bitter. Alex’s cheeks flood with heat when he pictures the image of Yassen taking his own cock into his hand, palming himself to the sight of Alex lying naked and unwilling and completely in over his head. Alex swallows around the fingers, sucking obediently when Yassen gives him another warning nip to his shoulder this time. Alex tries to convince himself that he isn’t chasing the fading taste of something wholly Yassen. 

Yassen’s fingers leave Alex’s mouth sopping wet, glistening, and thoroughly soaked in saliva.

After Yassen nudges Alex’s legs apart and places himself in between them in a position so blatantly sexual, there’s the sound of something being uncapped and then a cold sensation between Alex’s arse that makes him yelp in surprise. He feels but doesn’t see Yassen slathering a generous amount of lube over Alex’s arsehole, which would be surprisingly thoughtful of him if not for the fact that he’s also preparing to take Alex against his will. Alex squirms anxiously, giving a short cry and drawing his shoulders up when Yassen eases the tip of his first finger in, painful and intrusive. 

“Please stop,” Alex pleads, muffled by the pillow his face is buried into, attempting to squirm away from the touch. But he isn’t really begging. Not yet.

Yassen chooses to ignore this, sinking the first knuckle of his finger in, wiggling slightly, then the second, then the third, all in quick succession until the base of his finger bumps against Alex’s entrance.

It hurts. It hurts a lot.

But creeping up behind that hurt is a confusing sensation, something a far cry from pleasure but slowly getting there, a warm spark that only needs a bit of fanning, a bit of coaxing. It doesn’t help that there’s already bits of kindling from Alex’s many shameful fantasies of this moment, of something very much like this, of Yassen tying Alex up and just taking whatever he wants without asking—

Brought back down to Earth by the harsh burn of the intrusion, Alex whines in pain, recoiling, the single finger uncomfortable and invasive both at the same time, the assassin not giving him any time to adjust to the strange sensation. “Yassen, stop, _please_ , _a-a-ah_ —”

The assassin wastes no time pulling his forefinger finger out halfway before pushing it back in again in a short thrust, slipping a second finger in alongside it, _painful_ , again not giving Alex any time to get used to the feel of it as two unyielding fingers begin to thrust in and out of him at a quickening pace, the pain fading into an excruciating soreness that goes on for who knows how long until they both disappear altogether entirely.

“Wha—” Alex begins to ask, but it morphs into a confused whimper when something firm and wet suddenly begins to prod against his arsehole. He gasps, the sensation immediately overwhelming him when he realizes that Yassen is unabashedly _licking_ him there, laving at Alex’s hole with broad strokes of his tongue in this back and forth motion, tantalizing and teasing both at the same time, working hard against the tight, puckered muscle, Alex shivering at the hot breath ghosting between the cleft of his cheeks.

Alex’s throat gives voice to a near-continuous whine that finally breaks into a cry when Yassen’s tongue digs into the unfurled muscle, just barely working it open with his fingers until the tip of his tongue is able to push in, prodding against the sensitive nerves inside Alex’s rim. He shudders at the maddening sensation, a series of choked moans tumbling from his throat, muffled just so by the pillow he’s pressing his face into and clutching like a lifeline, back arching as his breath goes short, his body squirming to both get away and push back against Yassen’s tongue deliciously fucking into him at uneven intervals, spearing at his insides with an intent, cruel focus.

Alex can’t lie to himself any longer as his cock begins to swell. He’s wanted this for a very long time.

He mechanically follows when Yassen pats the back of Alex’s thigh, gesturing for him to get on all fours from his previous flattened posture. The only thing good about this position is the fact that Yassen still can’t see how badly Alex’s face is flushed from arousal, can’t see the telltale dilation of Alex’s pupils that will immediately give away his genuine feelings, and last but not least, Yassen can’t see Alex’s slow but purposeful grinds against the mattress below him, staining the bed sheets with spurts of wet pre-come undetectable to anybody but Alex himself because of the duvet in the way.

The weighty shadow of Yassen’s face moves away as the fingers return, this time the initial push much easier and less painful than before, two fingers sliding in before the assassin teases the tip of a third.

“ _Please_ ,” Alex cries weakly, one final time, futilely still trying to fight the inevitable build of pleasure, but he knows it’ll be of no use in the end. He doesn’t know if he’s pleading for Yassen to stop or keep going.

“Beg,” Yassen says sharply, callously. Alex does not, continuing to writhe on the bed sheets as Yassen presses a third finger all the way in, a licentious squelching audible as Yassen‘s fingers continue to thrust in and out of him at a rapid speed, harsh firecracker bursts of pleasure going up the length of Alex’s stiffening cock, leaving Alex desperately scrabbling for purchase on the bed sheets and sobbing when those unforgiving fingers shift several centimeters to the right and skim against what he thinks is his prostate, sending an electrifying thrill up his spine.

“And I thought you looked good sucking my cock,” Yassen murmurs. His words send another spike of pleasure straight to Alex’s prick, getting impossibly _harder_ at the assassin’s silky velvet tone. Alex involuntarily clenches down on Yassen’s fingers on the next thrust, bearing down on them, almost like his body wants to keep them inside him forever, craving the peculiar feeling of being filled, causing a raw friction as Yassen drags them back out, punching out Alex’s first unmuffled moan of the night, loud and high pitched, something that could easily be mistaken for pain.

It’s not, in fact, pain.

Several similar thrusts later, Yassen spreads Alex’s legs wider and Alex doesn’t fight it one bit. The head of Yassen’s erection presses against Alex’s entrance and immediately stills, hips flush to Alex’s. “Last chance to beg, little Alex.”

Alex bites his lower lip as he shakes his head with refusal for the fifth time tonight, a prickle of a guilty anticipation trembling inside of him as he feels himself dangerously nearing the edge.

The air freezes in his lungs when Yassen pushes in with a single quick, powerful thrust, right up against Alex’s prostate. Alex can’t help it, the rapidly blurring lines between pain and pleasure, the frustrating build-up of two years, the _fullness_. He really can’t help it. Alex comes immediately with a silent scream, the thunderous sound of his own pulse hammering in his ears as a white-hot sensation uncoils from his belly, spilling out onto the cream-colored bed sheets in wet, messy spurts, the orgasm sweeping through him like an unexpected punch to the stomach.

Yassen doesn’t even notice, which goes to show how far the assassin might actually be gone, making a low grunt at the way Alex suddenly clenches tightly around him. Yassen slips out and pushes back inside in another harsh but precise thrust, beginning a slow but deep pace.

“Does it hurt?” Yassen asks, his voice audibly strained. Alex doesn’t have the strength in him to answer, only stifling a whine at the overstimulation. “Do you see what can happen to you if you stay with MI6?”

Alex clenches his eyes shut and groans, trying his best to relax as Yassen begins to fuck him, sliding in and out of him with a purpose, Alex’s body adjusting to the stretch.

“Worse things can happen. It is better for you that I take all your firsts.” Yassen punctuates his point with a particularly hard thrust. “But I doubt you will listen to me, even after this. How will I stop you from ever contacting MI6 again? Kidnap you? They won’t even care that you are gone. No one will. Would you like for me to take you away and lock you up forever, little Alex? Would you like that?” 

His words are cruel, mocking, scathing, yet each and every one of them sends new jolts of arousal to Alex’s spent cock, somehow already swelling into hardness again.

“Or will you quit like a good little boy?”

Alex’s vision suddenly grows blurry. His fingers touch his cheeks and come away wet with tears. A sob is trapped in his throat. Two years of wanting… all for this? All for Yassen to fuck him once like object only for Alex to never see him again? 

Alex would rather _die_.

“Please,” Alex says. It’s a whisper. 

It’s a decision. 

Yassen pulls back and then thrusts in again, missing Alex’s prostate by what must be less than an inch.

“Please,” Alex cries, much louder this time. “Yassen, please, please _please stop_!”

Yassen pauses mid-thrust before pulling out completely, with more control than Alex could ever possibly dream of having. Alex immediately feels empty, almost missing the fullness of Yassen filling him enough to bite down hard on his lower lip in an effort to prevent himself from asking the assassin to just continue fucking him.

“I’m begging, all right?” Alex says, his voice raspy and thick. “I’m begging you, so please stop. Please.”

He’s crying, his eyes hazy and his cheeks sticky with tears. From what exactly, Alex doesn't know. From feeling overwhelmed by his first untouched orgasm? From the thought that this will probably be the last time that he ever sees Yassen? It doesn’t matter because he can’t stop the trail of tears dripping down his cheeks and onto the mattress, salty and burning his eyes and completely blurring his vision.

Yassen isn’t moving in preparation to kill him.

“Aren’t you going to snap my neck?” Alex sobs. “Do it already. Do _it_!”

“Alex,” Yassen says, uncharacteristically hesitant. “I…”

Alex weakly twists his body to turn around and glare at Yassen. Yassen doesn’t even attempt to disguise his confused stare at Alex’s visible arousal, the assassin’s eyes darting to a rather telling wet spot on the bed sheets as understanding dawns on him.

“You’re such a bastard, you know that?” Alex croaks. 

Yassen can’t kill Alex. Yassen knows it. He was never planning to in the first place.

And now Alex knows it.

“If you wanted to fuck me all you had to do was _ask_ ,” Alex sniffles. “This has got to be the worst first time in all of the worst first times to ever exist.”

Yassen’s eyes widen slightly in a slow realization. He brushes the knuckles of his hand against Alex’s tear-stained cheeks, and Alex leans into the touch anyway, even though he also really wants to slap it away just as much.

Alex’s cock hasn’t softened one bit. Neither has Yassen’s.

“You are still hard,” Yassen notes, puzzled. Oh, the _bastard_.

“Untie me,” Alex demands, his words slurring. Surprisingly, Yassen actually complies, unlocking both cuffs in an efficient manner before leaning back to look Alex up and down, gears visibly turning in his head.

Alex rubs his sore wrists, reddened and slightly bruised by the restraints.

“I was... only concerned about your lack of self-preservation instinct,” Yassen says awkwardly as they stare each other in the eyes, both of them still naked and very much turned on. “I got carried away. If you would like to leave now—”

Alex rolls his eyes and heatedly pushes Yassen onto his back, up against the headboard. “You’re the most infuriating person _ever_ ,” Alex rasps, his face burning hot, staring down at the assassin. “I hate you.”

“I don’t think you do,” Yassen says softly. “I think you like me very much.”

Alex’s face burns ever hotter, crawling forwards to straddle Yassen’s waist from above. “Shut up.”

Yassen reaches up to trace the curve of Alex’s cheek, the assassin’s pulse fluttering in the hollow of his throat when Alex grinds down against his cock. Yassen’s fingertips trail down, down past Alex’s washboard chest and soft stomach to settle at his hips, rubbing small circles into the skin there with his thumbs, gentle and comforting.

Alex parts his thighs further and lines himself up with the slick head of Yassen’s cock, his arms twitching and trembling to hold his weight up. Alex exhales once before easing himself down, avoiding the assassin’s intense gaze focused on his face. His breath hitches with each inch entering him, slowly sliding his hips lower until Yassen bottoms out, all the way in, the new angle better than when Yassen was fucking him from behind, reaching deeper inside of him, the head of his prick nestled right next to Alex’s prostate.

Yassen shifts on the bed and Alex chokes on a whimper, barely repressing a cry when the sudden movement bumps Yassen’s shaft against Alex’s sweet spot. Alex shakily lifts himself up, slow and careful, nervously holding his position without moving for at least a minute. 

Oh god, what is he doing? 

Apparently, Alex has finally reached the end of Yassen’s patience because the assassin’s hands suddenly tighten around Alex’s hips, taking control before _slamming_ Alex back down on his cock. Alex arches his spine, tossing his head back and moaning, loud and unabashed. Chasing the sensation, he instinctively circles his hips, getting in a filthy sort of rhythm before lifting up just enough and rocking back down hard, punching another drawn-out moan from his own lungs, frantic and needy as he works his hips in earnest, wantonly mewling at Yassen’s firm grip on Alex’s lean hips, guiding each and every bounce.

Alex catches Yassen’s gaze and dimly realizes that they’re close enough for him to count the blues in the other man’s eyes, dark and heated and accompanied by an undisguised look of fondness. His eyes move lower and catch the red imprint of teeth on Yassen's stomach, the hickey already bruising, and Alex shivers.

“Do you like how I feel inside you?” Yassen asks, groaning. “Because I like how you feel around me.” 

“Shut _up_!” Alex whimpers, red-faced and panting. He _does_ like it, and he doesn’t even need to admit it out loud for Yassen to know.

“You’re very tight, Alex,” Yassen continues, crooning. “You feel very, very good.”

Alex cries when Yassen begins to meet his rhythmic rocking with vicious sharp rolls of his hips, a building tingle radiating from Alex’s groin to his very extremities, all the way to his curling toes. Alex’s hands settle on Yassen’s shoulders as he loses his coordination. He can barely recognize his own voice, whiny and high and breathy, desperately sinking back down into Yassen’s cock, his breath coming out shivery and unstable from the excruciating pleasure, his own prick dripping pre-come against his belly as it bobs obscenely from the hard thrusts.

“Are you close?” Yassen breathes, flushed from exertion, somehow still sounding astonishingly composed.

Alex nods, clenching his eyes momentarily shut. He feels hot all over, teetering over the edge. His thighs tremble, his heart pounding loudly enough to be heard over the sounds of their slick skin, sliding against one another, over the sounds of Alex’s whines, needy and high-pitched.

Alex reaches down to squeeze himself, but Yassen is already there, his hand wrapped expertly around Alex’s leaking prick and tugging in practiced motions.

Yassen shifts again and moans, thrusting up, and suddenly Alex is taking him _deeper_ , perfect and hot and hitting right _there_ —

Alex lets out a long, agonized wail as he goes rigid, taut like a bowstring as he comes, reaching over Yassen’s shoulder to grip the headboard with both hands as he rides out his orgasm, all sounds lost in a crackle of white noise, drawing his belly tight as shock sings through him, heat rising from his belly, his muscles seizing, a whirlwind of sensation as he sees _stars_ , black spots speckling his vision at the rush of euphoria, fluttering spasms all over as he clenches tight around Yassen’s pulsing cock, vaguely feeling a gush of warmth and wetness inside him as his own come splatters haphazardly between their chests.

Dazedly, Alex goes limp from exhaustion, relishing in the warm and floaty aftermath, boneless and languid as Yassen tugs him closer to kiss his temple, an addictive drag of lips on skin. Alex whimpers when Yassen finally pulls his slowly softening cock out, followed by a trickle of cooling come leaking out of Alex’s hole. 

Yassen moves to the edge of the bed to stand, but Alex’s fingers catch his wrist.

“What is it?” Yassen asks.

“I…” Alex tries to say, but his tongue is suddenly heavy and useless in his mouth. “I don’t—I’m not—with you—” 

Yassen’s eyes soften in understanding. “Oh, _Alex_.”

Alex reddens in embarrassment, retracting his hand. Yassen leans forwards to press another soft kiss to Alex’s forehead. Alex squirms under the affection. “So what were you saying about spiriting me away?”

“I would do it in a heartbeat,” Yassen smiles, the corner of his eyes crinkling, sounding pleased at the implications of Alex’s words.

“Then I guess you have a kidnapping to plan,” Alex murmurs quietly, watching as Yassen disappears into the bathroom, only to reappear a few minutes later to carry Alex into an apologetic hot bath.

Neither of them say anything else, but the words are there, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> there we go!!! cheers to the first fic with penetrative sex I've ever written!
> 
> *cries* I'm never writing another fic again that was exhausting sjdhfsdjhf


End file.
